


Hold My Hand

by mangochi



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two months since Jim woke up. Two months, one week, and four days since Leonard actually slept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold My Hand

It’s been two months since the kid opened his eyes, two months, one week, and four days since the last time Leonard had a good night’s sleep. He blames it on the storm of media and political dissent that followed the crashing of the  _Vengeance_ , the overflowing schedule that has Jim and the rest of the senior crew scrambling from one public hall to the next.

He’s sick and tired of it all, and what makes it worse is knowing that it isn’t the schedule’s fault at all. It’s watching the kid disappear over and over again and not know if he’s ever coming back. Or if he does come back, he’s so broken that Leonard can’t fix him.

His hands are shaking, he realizes dimly, and he stares at them where they lie curled loosely on the surface of his desk. The lights in his office are on their lowest setting, blinds pulled down to shut out all possible light from medbay, but it still stabs at the back of his exhausted eyes.

Two months, one week, four days, and sixteen hours. Four hours since Jim left on the mission. Leonard’s comm lies less than six inches away, switched on and buzzing quietly with static. Next to it sits a half-empty glass and a loaded hypo. Leonard looks at the glass and thinks absently that, if Jim was here, he’d say that it’s half-full.

 _You idiot_. He downs the rest of the whiskey in the glass and slams it down a little too hard. _There. Now it’s fucking empty._

The hypo comes next, and he grimaces a little at the weird taste it leaves in his mouth as it hisses against the side of his neck. it doesn’t sit well with the alcohol, but he doesn’t want it to feel good. Already he can feel his heart rate picking back up from the adrenaline boost, forcing him to a higher state of consciousness even as his body tries to shut down on itself.

Leonard coughs and reaches for the bottle again. Four hours and counting.

………

Two months, two weeks, three days, two hours. 

He’s finally run out of alcohol, and he’s beginning to seriously consider making a raid on Scotty’s stash. It’ll be a suicide run, but honestly, it may just be worth it.

Leonard sits on the edge of his bed, hunched over with his elbows on his thighs and his head hanging down, and he watches his hands tremble irrepressibly. He’s completely useless in the medbay whenever Jim takes off, and Christine all but threw him out on his ass when he dropped his third hypo in two hours. “Get some sleep,” she told him, not unkindly. “You’re no good to the patients like this.”

"I know," he says out loud, and his voice rings around his empty quarters. He reaches out with a socked foot and deliberately knocks over the last empty bottle. It clinks gently as it rolls around on the floor, and he resists the sudden urge to smash it against the wall. 

His blood’s singing with supplements, his heart pounding sickly in his chest, and he can feel something building up in his throat, his eyes, squeezing his head in a tight vise as the seconds pass and his comm hums on the nightstand.

"Goddammit it," is all Leonard manages to say, before he’s suddenly curling in helplessly on himself, forehead pressed to his knees as his eyes begin to well with hot pressure. "….damn it," he forces out again, hating himself.  _You’re a grown man, Len, pull yourself together-_

"Fuck, fuck-" he hears himself gasp, and all he can see when he closes his eyes is his own hands unzipping the body bag and Jim lying there, cold and dead and still. It isn’t his fault, he knows that just as well as anyone, but it still  _is_ , because he swore an oath to himself that he was going to look after James Tiberius Kirk, God help anyone who tries to get in his way, and he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do a damn thing, and when Jim opened his eyes again, it was the best moment in his whole miserable life. “Damn you….”

He’s a mess by now, panting and wheezing and choking on his own tears as he tries and fails to catch his breath. It’s no way for an adult to act, no way for a doctor, but he gave up on himself long ago, long before he met Jim on that shuttle.

His head’s killing him, and it takes him a moment to realize that someone’s pounding on his door, clearly having foregone the bell. He ignores it and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to push himself back into shape. He can still feel bits of himself dribbling out the edges, boneless and weak and so _tired_ , and he hurts, his whole body aches like he has the flu.

"Bones!"

The door flies open, spilling blinding light into the darkness of his quarters, and Leonard flinches back automatically, raising an arm to shield his eyes. He hears a muffled curse and the patter of footsteps, then warm hands are patting at his face, his shoulders, wrapping around his wrists.

Leonard shuts down instinctively, ducking his head and hiding his face. “You’re back,” he rasps, blinking purple spots from his eyes as his headache begins to recede to a dull throb.

"Just got back, I thought I’d…." Jim’s voice trails off, and shit, just being this close to him is turning Leonard inside out. His heart’s slowed now, but it still thumps unevenly, bringing goosebumps to his skin where Jim still touches him. "What’s wrong?"

Leonard sniffs and twists his hand away, scrubbing his sleeve over his face adamantly. “What’s wrong with _you_ ,” he retorts, and bites down on whatever stupid words might come out next.

Jim drops down to his knees in front of him, his eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry. He drops a hand to Leonard’s thigh almost unthinkingly, like he’s trying to keep him from running away. “Bones.”

"I’m fine." It’s a pathetic attempt at a lie, but he’s more distracted by his own hands now. They’ve finally stopped shaking, like the tremors were never there, and he turns his palms over in growing wonder.

"Bones?" Jim says again, more anxiously this time. and Leonard watches with impending horror as his own hands move to cradle Jim’s face, sliding carefully along the lines of his jaw.

"Don’t go," he hears himself say, his voice broken and hoarse. "Don’t go, Jim."

Jim stares up at him, lips parted, and Leonard feels his stomach twist. He tries to pry his hands away, but then Jim’s hands are moving up to hold his in place, fingers pressing against Leonard’s knuckles.

Leonard swallows dryly, his thumbs smoothing over Jim’s cheekbones against his own will.

"I’m sorry," Jim tells him quietly. "God, Bones, I didn’t know, I swear." He rises up on his knees, so that their eyes are level, and then suddenly Leonard finds himself wrapped tightly in Jim’s arms, his own hands trapped awkwardly between their chests as Jim pushes closer. "I’m sorry," he hears again, muffled against his shoulder.

"You died," Leonard croaks, choking up again. He wriggles his hands free and digs his fingers into Jim’s hair. The strands are sticky with sweat and dirt, and he doesn’t give a shit as he buries his face against the top of the kid’s head. "I…..I thought….you were gone and I couldn’t do a fucking thing-"

"Hey," Jim pulls back just enough to look at him, knocking his forehead gently against Leonard’s. "Hey, I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, Bones. Not without you."

"You went today," Leonard says, not meaning to sound accusing, but it comes out that way anyway.

"You know what I mean," Jim scoffs softly. He’s leaning in closer and closer, and Leonard doesn’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or not. Their noses brush, and he stops breathing.

The first kiss is tentative, but Jim nudges in again immediately, pressing chapped lips to Leonard’s. “Bones,” he whispers, breathless and nervous.

Something snaps in Leonard at the sound of that small sigh, and he grabs for the back of Jim’s head, hauling him up and in for the big finish. Not unexpectedly, Jim goes along enthusiastically, wrapping his fingers in Leonard’s shirt and tugging back. The kiss turns messy, desperate, open mouths panting as Jim tries to climb up onto Leonard’s lap and pull him closer at the same time.

"Kid," Leonard groans. He feels like he’s going to die, right here, right now, and he hasn’t felt like this since he was sixteen and kissing the girl next door for the first time. "Jim, God-"

"Say ‘fucking’ again," Jim tells him, his voice strained. "Please. For me."

Leonard snorts despite himself. “That’s what you picked up on after all that?”

"It was hot," Jim insists, and he silences Leonard with another kiss.

………..

Two months, three weeks, seven hours. Leonard rolls over onto his back, or at least, he tries to. Jim clings like a limpet even in his sleep, one warm arm wrapped around Leonard’s waist. The kid overheats like…..well, a kid, so Leonard kicks off the blankets awkwardly and squirms around to face him.

"Mmm," Jim complains, nuzzling his face against Leonard’s chest. "Guhhhsleep,"

"Yeah, I know." Leonard gives the wall chrono a lazy glance before dropping a kiss onto the top of Jim’s head, breathing in the faded scent of shampoo in the messy locks. "Five more minutes."

"Fiffffeenn."

"Fifteen," Leonard agrees, because he’s feeling charitable.

Two months, three weeks, seven hours, and counting.


End file.
